


Gallifrey Askbox Fic

by gallifreyburning



Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Askbox Fic, F/M, Ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:49:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning
Summary: A collection of askbox fic frommy tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**[alyona11](http://alyona11.tumblr.com) asked: As a sucker for Leela/Narvin daily romance I'm having a hard time to choose between 10, 11 and 12 of the prompt list (cos they're all good and could have happened in one day time, lol). So it's for you to decide what do you like the most. **

**Prompts:**

**10\. A kiss given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.**  
**11\. Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.**  
**12\. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.**

 

~~~~~~

 

“Narvin! Here is your device, just as I promised!”

The door to Narvin’s office technically cannot be kicked open, given the fact that it’s built of staser-proof metal and controlled by highly sophisticated sensors and hydraulics. But the human entering his office absolutely bursts through, somehow squeezing inside before the door has opened even a quarter of the way.

Narvin generally does not respond kindly to being barged in on by visitors who don’t knock, but this particular visitor is an exception, the same way he himself is an exception to Romana’s no-barging-into-the-office rule. He’s on his feet and to the other side of the desk in a flash, hands out to receive the device, a wide grin of relief on his face.

“Finally! I knew I could count on you,” he says, too preoccupied with the dangerous metal cylinder and its blinking light panel to give Leela a proper looking over. He doesn’t notice the bruise on her right eye, or the blisters marring her fingers.

At some point during the darkest, most chaotic days of the Time War on Gallifrey, shobogans infiltrated the Capitol and ran rampant, looting and pillaging as they went. This included some of the CIA’s less secure facilities and vaults, with all of their anomalies and weapons. Since the end of the War and his return from exile, Narvin has made it a priority to track down and neutralize these lost threats. He has a half dozen teams of CIA agents working the problem, but after a string of failures he finally asked – begged, actually – Leela to take on the most difficult cases. She’s a natural, tracking down and extracting her prey, and works faster and more reliably than the rest of his agents combined.

“Can you disarm it?” she asks as he whirls around and places the proto-temporal magnesis apparatus on his desk.

“You think I’d ask you to bring something this dangerous into my office if I didn’t know how to deal with it?” he replies cheekily, prying open the control panel and getting to work on the wires. It makes a discouraged sputtering sound as the blinking instrument panel goes dead.

Narvin takes a step back, hands on his hips, and breathes a sigh of relief.

She places a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of congratulation. Without thinking, he reaches up to draw the hand closer, planting a tender kiss on her palm. “Leela, you’re a marvel.”

She yanks her hand away in a sharp movement, pulling his concentration back to this office. Blood rushes to his face, and his tongue suddenly feels thick in his mouth. He half turns to look at her, fearful of what he’ll see.

He notices her black eye; he realizes he was kissing blisters on her palm. “I didn’t mean to –”

“I have promised to help Romana with her work also,” she interrupts crisply, her face pale. She doesn’t meet his eyes, turning to leave without another word.

Before the Time War and the Master and Rassilon, Leela first initiated these sorts of familiar gestures between them. She trained Narvin, as surely as a broakir-breaker molds a wild animal to its will, so that he came to enjoy both giving and receiving physical affection from her, especially in these private moments.

But then she was lost for oh, so long. She hasn’t spoken about what happened during that time, but she’s a different woman now. Still clever and sharp and uninhibited, but more cautious and wary, even with people she knows well. Even with Romana.

Even with him.

Narvin has seen this sort of post-traumatic behavior before, in CIA agents who suffer unpleasant experiences in the field. If the shock is bad enough, regeneration is usually prescribed: a few scrambled neurons, a new set of nerve endings, some physical rewiring to cure the trauma. Works a charm, every time.

But that isn’t an option for Leela. It isn’t an option for him anymore, either; a piece of common ground between them.

Since their return to Gallifrey, he’s been careful to give her the distance she obviously wants. One of her first nights home, giddy with excitement, he practically danced to her quarters and knocked at the door. She invited him in for tea and, after a friendly conversation at her dining table, escorted him to the exit and told him goodnight, in no uncertain terms.

He hasn’t returned to her quarters since.

And now, in a moment of thoughtless euphoria, he kissed her hand and drove her away. She’s been so gun-shy lately, like a wild creature, he probably won’t see her for days. Or if she does come around, offering to hunt down another piece of lost CIA equipment, their burgeoning camaraderie will be gone, and he’ll have to start building trust again from ground zero.

With a sigh, he sits down at his desk and gets back to work.

The next day as he arrives at the Penansulix Science Structure for a meeting with Cardinal Tamadan, he has a distinct feeling that he’s being watched. Squinting in the filtered suns-light of the Capitol dome, he surveys the enormous courtyard, dotted with robe-wearing Time Lords, and discovers Leela in an enclave off to one side. She isn’t hiding, merely observing him in plain sight, as if she’s a weekend birdwatcher and he’s a rare species of something or another. They stay motionless, oriented toward each other; Narvin has no idea what’s happening or why (a tragically frequent state of affairs, these days), but he decides he won’t be the first one to turn away.

It shouldn’t be possible to see Leela’s eyeroll from this distance, but somehow he does; or maybe it’s just a feeling she projects, like a psychic wave of resignation from across the stone courtyard. She beckons him with a sharp gesture, and disappears into the shadows of the enclave, like a magic trick.

With only a moment’s pause he crosses the courtyard to her, more out of curiosity than obedience, he’s sure. Cardinal Tamadan will wait.

In the Capitol’s climate-controlled dome, the shade and suns feel the same. There is no relief in stepping into the shadows, in terms of temperature, but everything seems … softer. Less harsh. Leela leans against the wall, her hands behind her back, and chews on her lip as she stares at him. Her black eye has faded significantly - she had the surprising good sense to seek medical treatment. 

“I do not hate you,” she says, without preamble or context.

“Well.” He moves to the opposite wall, a few meters away. He doesn’t lean, but he does clasp his hands behind his back, mirroring her pose. “I didn’t realize I was in that sort of danger.”

“You are disappointed in me, though. You want things to be like they were between us, before the war.”

“No!” he says instantly, and then his face scrunches as he follows it with, “and yes. I mean, I’m not disappointed in you. I just. Ahem. I sometimes …” His cheeks sting with blood, his feet shuffling against the stones. She obviously doesn’t feel the same about him as he feels about her, not since whatever she went through while they were apart. The words are too big, too heavy to get out, and he doesn't have the strength to move them on his own.  

“You sometimes?” she prompts, eyebrows lifting as she leans forward a little.

“How did you know I was going to be here?” he counters, desperate for a change of topic. “Are you following me?”

“Today I was in the mood for easy prey.” Her gaze flickers down his robe, and for an instant he feels as if he’s wearing nothing at all – like one of those nightmares where he shows up to a High Council meeting naked and is forced to give a vidcast speech.

“That difference in the way things were between us before the war, and the way things are between us, now – it doesn’t change anything, for me,” he blurts out, waving vaguely toward his own chest. This counts as talking about his feelings, right? This gesture, these fumbling words? This is a confession of love, surely she can see that. “It’s the same.”

She’s the one blushing now, meeting his gaze only for an instant before staring at the tips of her boots. She lifts her toes, grinding her heel into the flat stones of the courtyard.

“Sometimes I get the impression you’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else, besides Gallifrey,” he says, lightheaded. “But I’d really like you to stay.”

“Where could I go, Narvin? I do not belong anywhere else,” she replies, still staring at the ground. She inhales, deep and slow. “But these are old hunting grounds, and I am not the girl who walked them before. I am a different creature altogether, some days, and these familiar paths feel like new territory.”

“I understand.”

After a beat, she looks at him again, and extends one hand. He reaches out to take it. Maintaining eye contact, she lifts it to her mouth and presses a kiss to his palm, in the precise spot where he kissed her yesterday.

The touch of her lips is electric. He’s buzzing with it from head to toe, trying to remember how to breathe. When she lets go he stands stock still, arm still extended, staring at her in shock.

“You may visit my flat for tea again some time,” she says, and slips out of the enclave and away from the Penansulix Science Structure, disappearing down a nearby street.

Narvin manages to scrape together his composure for his meeting with Cardinal Tamadan, even if he is a bit more absent-minded than usual. He makes it through the rest of the day, even though the spans crawl by at an agonizing pace.

He’s standing at the door to her quarters just after the second sunset, flutterwings rioting in his stomach. His hand hasn’t even reached the chime before it opens, and Leela ushers him inside. The tea is mediocre, but she holds his hand during the entire Public Register Video broadcast, sitting beside him on the couch.

He returns to his own quarters that night, and the night after, and the next one too. But the fourth evening, she refills his tea and puts it on the nightstand, claiming the broadcast is more comfortable to watch from bed. He sits on the left side – his usual spot, before the war – and she adjusts herself into a slouch against his chest before using a datapad to activate the screen on the opposite wall.

Leela falls asleep before the first commentator finishes talking. Narvin ignores the rest of the broadcast, stroking her hair, rolling the soft strands between his fingertips. Eventually he dozes off right there, sitting up in her bed.

Being a member of a time-sensitive race means Narvin rarely loses track of when he is. But the next morning, as the dawn of two suns filters in through the windows of Leela’s bedroom, he feels like he’s landed in temporal molasses. This is certainly three months after the end of the Time War, and also certainly two years before it ever began. This is the morning he wants to wake up to, every day for the rest of his lives, even if it means living in a time-loop.

It’s so perfect, he refuses to open his eyes for fear of spoiling it.

Leela is in his arms, her skin warm even through both of their clothes. Her hair tickles his chin, her head tucked against his shoulder. This position is familiar, one of her favorites, even though his left arm goes numb every time. He used to complain about that sometimes; he silently vows never to complain about it again.

(He definitely complains about it, at length, only two nights later.)

With a low hum she stretches, arm and leg extending across his body and re-settling. His eyes still closed, he strokes her forearm.

“Do not speak,” she warns, breath hot against his collarbone.

“Why would I do anything so stupid?” he murmurs, turning his head so his chin meets her cheek.

“You do stupid things all the time,” she whispers. “Like ruining this moment with words.”

“I can be quiet as a cobblemouse.”

“You could not, not even if your life depended on it.” He can hear the grin in her voice. With his eyes closed, the room feels saturated with sunlight and magic, the bed a fortress keeping their years of separation, and memories of the war, at bay.

He shifts down and tips his head at the same time, kissing her cheek. It’s unforgivably forward, but Leela trained him well all those years ago, and he knows that she sometimes enjoys it when he’s unforgivably forward. She makes that humming noise again, her hand tightening around his shoulder, and they rest for a moment, completely still against each other.

That temporal molasses continues pooling around them both, holding them together.

She tips her head up a little more, so the tips of their noses brush. He doesn’t know if her eyes are open, but he keeps his closed. He could draw her from memory, down to the placement of each freckle and the faint dimple in her left cheek.

“I missed you,” she says.

Narvin knows she did, but hearing the words leaves him breathless. She strokes his beard and takes his earlobe between her thumb and index finger, massaging. He presses his forehead to hers and manages a few syllables that sound vaguely like her name.

_I missed you too. I adore you. I love it when you leave your hairbrush on my lavatory sink, and we argue about the strands that fall into the drain. I can’t live without your idiotic human customs cluttering up my days, like when you brush your teeth, and eat plants, and sing for no reason at all, and talk about your feelings._

Leela hasn’t given him permission to establish a psychic link, so the words stay inside his skull. Instead, he kisses her again, but on the mouth this time. She kisses him in return, their lips moving in the most leisurely way imaginable, as if they have all the time in the universe – brushing against, pressing together, grazing along. She eventually escalates by nibbling his bottom lip, and he retaliates with his tongue, and at this point he’s so distracted he doesn’t notice that she’s gotten her free hand inside his robe and under his shirt. Not until she starts tickling his ribs.

Time Lords aren’t ticklish, of course. Not unless they want to be.

Narvin squirms just enough to appease her, and this display of submission provokes her into climbing atop him and pinning him down.

For the first time since he woke up, oh so long ago, he opens his eyes to look up at her. Leela’s hair hangs around both of their faces, a curtain protecting them from the rest of reality. A grin lights up her face, her eyes brimming with delight as she surveys her prisoner.

“Welcome home,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her captive in return.


	2. Chapter 2

**[thebraxiatelcollection](https://thebraxiatelcollection.tumblr.com/) asked: Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force. for brax/romana? :)**

 

~~~~~

 

A most excellent prompt!! Here you are:

~~~~~

First there was a war-inciting incident with the Monan Host, featuring an exploding timeship on the cusp of Gallifreyan space; then there was Leela, being annoyingly willful and insisting on saving Romana’s life; and finally there was Braxiatel appearing out of nowhere, after so many years and so many universes, all swagger and no explanations.

Romana’s had weirder days.

That doesn’t mean she’d refuse a glass of wine at the end of it all, though. And of course Braxiatel is the one to offer it to her, proffering the Maravallian pinot in his TARDIS’s library. Perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair, Romana accepts it, rolling the stem of the obscenely rare and expensive crystal glass between her fingers.

“You have questions,” Braxiatel rumbles affably as he pours himself a glass.

“Care to guess which is top of the list?” she replies.

He smirks, turning to face her, leaning against the front of his large mahogany desk. “My Lady President, I would never presume to know the inner workings of your mind.”

“You presumed with my first incarnation.”

“Yes, well.” He coughs delicately and takes a sip. “A good thing we’re both older and wiser now.”

She arches an eyebrow, surveying him from head to toe without a hint of subtlety, letting him feel the full weight of her scrutiny. He’s still insufferably handsome, even with the grey at his temples and the careworn lines around his eyes. Something in his posture seems diminished, as if perhaps his shoulders have developed a permanent slump since she last saw him, as if they bore something that left an impression. Then again, he always loomed overly large in her memory – once she got past the psychic blocks he put there without her permission, of course.

“Older and wiser? Are we, indeed?” she says.

“Is that the question at the top of your list? Is this an official inquiry?”

“I haven’t decided whether to summon an Inquisitor yet, so we’ll agree that everything is off the record for now.” Romana takes a sip of wine. The taste of an entire planet slips across her tongue, the soil where the grapes were raised, and the suns under which they grew, and the minerals in the water they drank. The pinot is exquisite, aged to perfection.

She doesn’t want to be impressed. She is, anyway. He reads it in her expression, and she lifts the glass toward him in a gesture of concession. “To your survival and timely return.”

He stands up and comes to tap his glass to hers in a toast. “And to my Lady President’s survival and timely return, as well.”

They drink, gazes fixed on one another. She can’t stop staring at his upper lip, at how unbearably naked it looks.

“Right,” she says crisply, tracing a moustache-shaped line through the air with curlicues at each end, “first question: what  _have_  you done to yourself?”

He shifts almost imperceptibly closer, leaning in. He smells of aftershave and stardust, that particular scent that only comes from the void of space. He’s been spacewalking, maybe even in that finely tailored Earth suit. Which should be impossible, but this is Braxiatel, so the most preposterous explanation is the only one that’s true.

He hums, as low and smooth as molasses, and goosebumps rise on the back of Romana’s arms.  _Stop that_ , she tells her skin sternly, and they disappear instantly. “Oh dear, where to begin?”

“Did you lose the moustache in an accident?” Romana rises from the arm of the chair and steps closer, her eyes fixed on his mouth. “Or was it stolen right out from under your nose?”

His eyes hold a sort of wariness, even as he takes a step to mirror her own, so he’s within easy reach. “I got tired of it,” he replies.

The truth, so easily and freely given. These stakes are low, however; ferreting out where Braxiatel has been and what he’s been up to, much less how he managed to find her (the current or the next version, take your pick) at just the right time, will be a far more complicated gambit.

She sighs. “What a pity. I always liked the way it tickled.”

“I save so much on moustache wax without it. More room in the budget for Maravellian wine, that way.”

“You? Economizing? Oh dear, how frightfully disappointing.” Hardly blinking, gaze fixed with his, Romana slips her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his head down. His eyes close before hers do, his posture softening even further as her lips find his. Their mouths touch once, twice, gentle and soundless and tasting of pinot.

When she pulls away, his hand lingers on her bicep. “You missed me.”

Rassilon help her, she did.

What she says is, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Have a little more wine,” he says, reaching for the bottle to offer a refill, “and we’ll decide together.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **RATING FOR THIS CHAPTER: MATURE**

**anonymous asked: romana/leela with 42 or 44?**

 

**44\. Tentative kisses given in the dark.**

 

**~~~~~~**

 

“Romana? Is that you?”

Romana sighs disappointedly. She’d hoped to be still and quiet enough to avoid being noticed, but Leela’s hearing is sharper than ever, now that she’s lost her sight.

“I’m here.”

Moving cautiously, feeling her way through the Academy rubble with the tips of her boots, Leela comes to her. “Hallan was worried when he could not find you.”

“There are strategic decisions to be made before tomorrow, no doubt,” she says.

Leela’s arms extend instinctively as she draws close, searching for obstructions; Romana takes her hand and guides her in without thought, a natural gesture. The other woman can’t see it, of course, but they’re situated next to a window on this high floor, the cracked glass looking out across the western quadrant of the Citadel. The view is mediocre, but the best to be had from the Academy. Romana faces the window, and Leela faces her.

“Do you remember the day we first met?” Leela says.

“How could I forget? You introduced yourself by infiltrating my presidential office, without setting off a single alarm or alerting any of my chancellery guardsmen. It made an impression.”

She grins. Even with a cloth tied across her eyes, it’s a good look on her. Unobserved, Romana studies the play of moonslight across her tanned skin, the contrast of her white teeth and pink lips. “I could still do that, if you ask me to. I would slip into Pandora’s office and thrust my knife into her hearts before she knew I was there.”

The offer is tempting. Not because it will actually defeat Pandora – the bits of Pandora inside Romana’s head won’t be done off with a blade, and even if Leela managed to assassinate the other woman’s body, her consciousness would just slip right back into the Matrix again.

She places a hand on Leela’s shoulder. “Not tonight. We might get to that point, but I don’t believe we’re there yet.”

“Very well.” Her disappointment is palpable. Tilting her head, she inhales and brings her fingers to Romana’s face. “I cannot see your exhaustion,” she says, fingertips brushing along cheeks, thumbs tracing the outline of lips. “But I can feel it. You must sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Because of the other … _thing_ inside your head, from the Anomaly Vault?”

“Yes.”

“You remember how I came to your office, the first day you met. And you remember what happened afterward? With Rassilon? I also know what it is like, to have a monster from the Matrix living inside my head and controlling my hands.”

For some reason this had never occurred to Romana before. It should have, long ago, but so much of her mental and emotional strength has been focused on saving Gallifrey, saving her fellow Time Lords, saving her civilization, that she’s not spared nearly enough thought for her friend.

Her clever, devoted Leela.

“It’s – it’s intolerable, isn’t it?” Romana says, her words more tremulous than she’d like.

Leela’s hands settle on each side of her face, hot human fingertips pressed against her scalp. “You helped me be free of Rassilon, that day. I will not rest until you are also free of Pandora. I am here to protect you, even from yourself.”

“My bodyguard.” Romana’s hands find Leela’s waist and she closes her eyes, plunging herself into the same darkness Leela already knows. It’s the most natural thing in the universe when she lets herself lean forward, almost like falling, her lips brushing the other woman’s cheek.

As if waiting all along for this moment of contact, this giving of permission, Leela’s grip on Romana tightens and she brings their mouths together. Romana hasn’t ever kissed a human before, even though she and Leela occasionally share a bed, holding each other for comfort. But her body heat feels so different in this kiss – slick and smoldering, her hot tongue plunging into Romana’s mouth with enthusiastic abandon.

Romana responds with enthusiasm to match, these physical sensations a blessed distraction from the chaotic battle inside her own mind. Leela feels so strong, and so safe, and as she wraps her arms around the other woman to bring their bodies together, she whimpers and sucks needily at her bottom lip before opening her mouth wider.

She doesn’t want to think, or decide, or fight any more. She just wants to _be_ – purely corporeal, physical sensation and nothing else. Blessed abandon, pure relief.

Leela strokes her hair, fingers tangling with the strands so it pulls a little. Romana makes a noise entirely unbecoming of the Time Lord President; Leela makes a noise in return, mangled against Romana’s lips. It occurs to her, vaguely, that Leela’s noise sounded almost like a name, with too few syllables to be Romana’s own.

 It also occurs to her, even more vaguely, that Leela is hurting too – in different ways than Romana, of course, but her losses are no less potent. Especially not the loss she suffered at Romana’s own hands, propelled by Pandora’s murderous will.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, not realizing she said the words aloud until Leela’s thumbnail presses into the pulse point beneath her earlobe, dangerous and tender.

She pulls away from the kiss, her breath cool against Romana’s wet lips. “Are you?”

The last time Romana apologized for what happened to Andred, the words were couched in excuses. _I’m sorry, but … I didn’t mean … it wasn’t exactly._ This time she doesn’t shield her apology, she lets it stand vulnerable and alone.

“I am.”

Leela accepts the apology wordlessly, with a kiss. She seizes her wrist, forcing her one step back into the wall, pinning her hand above her head. She’s startlingly strong, her thigh shoving between Romana’s legs; Romana rocks her hips forward, fully resting her weight on the other woman, letting Leela support her completely.

Leela is undeniably dangerous, and Romana is at her mercy – the other woman could toss her out of this broken window, or snap her neck with her bare hands if she chose. Romana could do little to stop her. There’s a small thrill in that danger, and a bigger thrill in the knowledge that she’s safer here, in Leela’s arms, than anywhere else in the universe.

Her hips move, grinding against Leela’s impressively muscular thigh, and the friction is exquisite. At this point her conscious mind, with all its unwanted passengers, checks out completely, and she gives herself over to the physical experience in front of her with this person she trusts so completely.

Here in this dark corner of the ruined Academy, under the moonslight, Romana and Leela take their time exploring each other until one and then the other of them are trembling and weak with pleasure, bodies slick with sweat and kisses and satisfied desire.

Afterward, they sit against the wall, Leela’s head resting on her shoulder.

“That first day we met,” Romana says, “when you broke into my office.”

“Mmm hmm?”

“You told me you know all the words to ‘Daisy Daisy.’ I’ve never heard that one before. Is it a song of the Sevateem?”

Leela laughs, taking Romana’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “It was something the Doctor taught me. From Earth, I believe.”

“Of course,” Romana snorts, then sighs and rests her cheek on the crown of Leela’s head. “Would you sing it for me now? I’d like a lullaby tonight, before we go back to war tomorrow.”

Leela hums for a moment, as if trying to remember the melody. “Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do,” she starts softly, gaining confidence as she goes. The words drift in the darkness like leaves falling from a tree, gentle and comforting, surrounding them both. “I’m half crazy, all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage, but you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle made for two …”


	4. Chapter 4

**Not exactly askbox fic, but prompted by[this drawing by alyona11/ifailedtothinkofaname](http://alyona11.tumblr.com/post/184068353751/i-guess-i-havent-been-posting-for-too-long-ok):**

It should have been a simple, quick trip to scout out another alternate Gallifrey from their base on the Axis. Without Braxiatel around anymore, they’d left K-9 in charge ( _Romana_  had left K-9 in charge, overruling every one of Narvin’s very logical and reasonable objections) and stepped through a portal to find something novel. Not the regeneration-stealing sort of novel, and not the Lord Burner or vampire sort of novel, either.

“Monkeys!” Leela bursts out in surprise, far too loudly, as they round a corner and come face-to-face with a troop of freakishly tall orangutans in chancellery guard uniforms.

Less than five microspans later, Romana has been captured and Leela and Narvin are legging it down a Panopticon gallery, in search of a spot of safety to regroup and come up with a rescue plan. All of this would be much easier, of course, if a horde of capuchin monkeys, all dressed in Arcalian chapter colors and wielding miniature stasers, weren’t in pursuit.

“Did you see the monkey with an enormous droopy nose, wearing the CIA robe?” Leela pants as she grabs Narvin’s arm and hauls him into an alcove to hide. This affords them a moment’s rest, as they wait for the capuchins to swarm past.

“Of course I did, I’m not blind,” he replies, trying to ignore the stitch in his side from running too fast. The alcove is tiny, the two of them squeezed together in a way that feels nearly as dangerous as the murderous monkeys. Leela heaves against him, trying to catch her breath, and sweat glistens on her forehead. Her hands clutch his biceps in a gesture that might be meant as reassurance, or more likely a precaution in case she needs to fling him out of the way to fight.

“They called that big-nosed monkey  _Coordinator_ ,” Leela hisses into his ear with far too much glee. “I quite like this version of you.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll find a monkey wearing animal skins called Leela, since humans are so far down the evolutionary ladder, there’s no difference between you and one of those chancellery orangutans.” The corridor outside has grown quiet. Without waiting to see the effect his insult has, Narvin leaves the enclave and marches to the nearest set of stairs, which ought to lead to a hidden corridor directly to the President’s offices.

“We must return the other way, to rescue Romana,” Leela hisses behind him.

“She’ll have convinced them to elect her president by now,” Narvin replies. “I’m just being practical and saving us a good deal of run-around.”

At this precise moment, as he takes the top step, his foot meets something unexpected: a long, yellow fruit skin, not one that he recognizes, but fiendishly slippery. Suddenly his feet are out from under him and he’s tumbling down the stairs with a series of undignified yelps.

“Narvin!”

Leela catches up at the bottom of the dim stairwell. Agony radiates through his left leg, stopping his breath as black spots swim in his vision. She helps him up, and as soon as he tries to put weight on the injury, he collapses again.

He’s broken his ankle.

“Leave me here,” he finds himself saying. He wonders who, exactly, is speaking, because this certainly isn’t him – what has possessed him, to make such a stupid offer? He can’t seem to shut up, though: “Find Romana. I’ll meet you both back at the Axis portal.”

Only after the words have left his mouth does he think through the practical implications of this offer: dragging himself through the corridors of the Panopticon, alone, in pain, hunted by monkeys.

Leela scoffs, “With the size of monkey-Narvin’s nose, he will sniff you out in no time and lock you up, too. I do not wish to rescue both you and Romana, so you will come with me now.”

Without asking permission, in a movement so quick he hardly has time to protest or defend himself, Leela scoops him into her arms. He grits his teeth against the screaming pain in his ankle as she jostles him closer, settling him into a more comfortable grip.

“See?” she says, hardly winded at all from the effort. She’s been somewhat insufferable since she drank Magistrix Borusa’s hound potion on that other Gallifrey, boasting of her superior senses and boundless energy at every opportunity. But this particular show of strength is novel, and Narvin finds himself simultaneously mortified and intrigued. “I shall carry you, and we will rescue Romana together.”

He can’t bring himself to look at her face, but he knows her well enough to imagine her expression. “Rassilon save me. Can you please look less smug?”

“I could,” Leela replies chirpily as she carries back up the stairs, “but I shall not.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Anonymous asked:**   **Leela grabs Narvin and kisses him during an argument Narvin: Disgusting!...Do it again.**

 

It happens exactly like this, except the “Disgusting!” and the “Do it again” are twenty-four hours apart.

They are in each other’s faces, both of them keyed up and angry about something, and Narvin is definitely winning this particular argument. (It might be something about Romana, but lbr it’s probably over the fact that Leela won’t follow CIA dress code.) It’s been happening more often than Leela likes, lately, that he gets the upper hand like this when they squabble. Usually she can walk away and just ignore him, but today is different; today he’s under her skin in a way that makes her want to draw her knife and put him up against a wall.

Or … maybe she just wants put him up against a wall, period, without bothering to involve the knife at all.

And so Leela does. Right in the middle of his most salient point on their topic of debate, she darts forward. As she reaches him and it dawns on him what she intends, his eyes go wide as saucers. Before he can move away, she seizes his head in both hands, pull him down, and shuts his mouth.  

By all the gods, it’s actually  _enjoyable_. For one thing, Narvin is finally quiet, which is pleasant in and of itself. She can feel the shock and confusion practically vibrating off of him, even as his mouth shifts against hers - not to pull away, but an analytical and exploratory gesture. She’s never paid much attention before now, but his lips are  _quite_ nice, indeed. 

She lets go without deepening the kiss or letting herself linger too long, and steps back. Arms crossed and eyebrow arched, she stares up at him. “I will not wear a CIA robe to the ceremony, and I will hear no more on the matter.”

“Disgusting,” he mutters at her back, as she stalks out of the room. 

The next time Leela sees him, he picks a fight within the first five microspans. And the time after that, as well. By the third argument, it dawns on her that he doesn’t really want to fight at all. 

“Narvin,” she interrupts him, mid-sentence, and he blinks at her. “Do you want me to end this argument right now?”

His eyes light up, even as he maintains his galaxy-champion pain-in-the-ass facial expression. “You really imagine that you could?”

“I have before, have I not?”

He pauses, his tongue unconsciously touching his lip. “Fine, then. Do it again.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Anonymous asked: I saw a meme where gfs text their bfs, i want a baby, and post their responses. One ended w, wait dont ask another guy ill do it. And i can see and hear Narvin saying that to Leela after she told him she wanted a baby (on a dare from Ace)(narvin and leela arent even together in any sense)((but narvin would do almost anything for leela))**

 

The thing is, Narvin would get around to this “wait don’t ask another guy, I’ll do it” in such a long and winding way. 

“A  _baby_? Rassilon’s red panties, what do you want one of those for? Well, I suppose if you insist, I can put you into contact with the genetic engineers and have them loom a … Wait. What? You’re  _serious_?! You want to conceive the old-fashioned way and carry it  _yourself_? How quaint and - frankly - disturbing. That seems unsanitary, not to mention dangerous. I know, I know, you’d never choose a safe route, you live for danger, etcetera. I should’ve guessed. 

“I suppose that means you’ll need a secondary source of …  _ahem_ … genetic material. Have you chosen a suitable individual to obtain a sample from, for fertilization purposes? You should screen candidates thoroughly. He’ll have to be intelligent, that’s top of the list. Someone physically and mentally resilient. Since you’ve already decided it should be a time lord, the physical appearance won’t matter nearly as much as it would if you picked a human father, because regeneration is always an option. Mmm. 

“Hallan, you say? Certainly not. He graduated the Academy by the skin of his teeth. Annos? He’s practically a baby himself, only in his first regeneration - there’s no way to have a clear picture of his moral fortitude, without a bigger sample size of personalities.  _*gasp*_  Leela, absolutely  _not_ , I’m putting my foot down, Braxiatel is the  _worst_ possible candidate, definitely out of the question. The last thing the universe needs is more of  _his_ genetic material running around. Romana would certainly be a suitable candidate, but since you insist on doing this the old-fashioned way, you’d have to convince her to regenerate into a male body. That isn’t likely anytime soon.  

“Now listen here, don’t get upset with me for rejecting all of your ideas, just because I want the best for you and this - this  _baby_ you’ll be having! I haven’t set impossible standards! These requirements are in your best interest, and anyway they’re the  _bare minimum_!! 

“But - but - but how  _dare_ you accuse me of getting emotional and yelling,  _you’re_ the one who started shouting first! Fine, if you need an intelligent time lord with superior moral and physical fortitude, I’ll supply the secondary genetic material!

"… … … Hold on, what do you mean  _right now_???”


	7. Chapter 7

**Anonymous asked:**   **Favorite soft headcanons of narvin x leela. Spare no expense.**

 

This is a late-comer in the favorites meme thing I reblogged the other night, but it’s an excellent one, so:

  * Sometime around s6-9, Narvin asks Leela to show him the Fire Dance of the Sevateem, since he wasn’t paying attention when she performed it years earlier at that peace conference where she was in disguise as an exotic dancer. She agrees only if he lives up to the stereotype that Time Lords like to “look but not touch.” He makes it five minutes before he gets handsy, and she “””accidentally””” burns one of his eyebrows off.
  * (wait you said soft headcanons not flammable headcanons, my bad)
  * Narvin always fills out Leela’s CIA incident/mission report paperwork and makes sure it’s submitted on time. She  _could_ do it, she just doesn’t care. Narvin, on the other hand, cares  _a lot_. 
  * On the rare occasions when Narvin has to leave Gallifrey without her, Leela tucks a half dozen knives into his suitcase, just in case he needs them. (He only realizes she has done this when he reaches for a robe without looking and impales himself through the palm. “Dammit Leela, I almost regenerated from shock!” “Well it  _is_ a handsome scar, at least you got some use out of the blades.”)
  * Narvin likes to make Leela elaborate breakfasts, even though he only ever eats nutrition pills/bars. He’s a very good cook, because he’s very precise with the whole process.
  * Because she’s human, Leela needs a lot more sleep than Narvin. She often falls asleep on the couch in his office, when she doesn’t want to go home without him (or she wears herself out pinning him to the wall with his chair). Narvin keeps a blanket and pillow in his top secret filing cabinet for precisely these occasions.
  * At a certain point, Narvin’s TARDIS spontaneously creates a room just for Leela. It doesn’t have a bed it in (because she sleeps in his room), but it does have a forest complete with little furry animals, and lots of weapons storage for her acquisitions when they travel together. It’s the only space in his TARDIS that contains anything remotely resembling nature and doesn’t conform to a strict grid pattern.
  * Leela is the only person Narvin feels safe enough around to get buzzed on ginger beer with, sometimes. 
  * Even though they talk shit all the time, they are both  _intensely_ proud of each other, and their very different skill sets. 
  * Leela loves the way “Narvinectralonum” looks in circular Gallifreyan. She doodles it a lot, and when she doesn’t have a drawing implement she absently traces it with her fingertip.
  * Leela is secretly very turned on by the fact that Narvin is a crack shot with a staser. Narvin is not-so-secretly turned on by the fact that Leela could kill him with her bare hands.



 

 **[thesearchforbluejello](http://thesearchforbluejello.tumblr.com/) asked:**  **They may not have said flammable headcanons, but I'm definitely asking because you can't just leave a girl hanging like that.**

 

Okay well, since you asked - 

  * definitely the thing with the Fire Dance of the Sevateem and Narvin’s singed eyebrow
  * Ace and Leela set off the fire suppression system in the CIA Tower two different times, but they won’t ever admit how it happened, and all of the video recordings of both incidents have gone inexplicably missing. The fire suppression system goes off in the Panopticon on one occasion when Ace is there, but Narvin can never prove that she was the culprit.
  * Romana occasionally lights candles in her office, because she likes the quaint feeling it creates, and the finite life of the candle is a good reminder of the temporary nature of existence. Leela enjoys dipping her fingertips in the melted wax and secretly leaving little wax petals on Narvin’s desk, because she finds them beautiful. He eventually resorts to running a fingerprint analysis on the petals to figure out who has been tormenting him with wax litter.
  * There is an incident during one of Leela and Narvin’s offworld CIA missions with an intelligent alien entity made entirely of fire, and Narvin’s robes being accidentally burned right off of him at a critical moment (without even singeing his skin), so he had to complete the assignment in his boxer briefs. Leela would’ve high-fived the fire-creature, if she could have done it without risking blisters. 
  * Cadonwood has a distinct, sharp smell when it’s burned. Narvin secretly loves the scent of cadonwood smoke in Leela’s hair, when she returns from visiting with the Outsiders and sitting beside their bonfires. 




	8. Chapter 8

**Anonymous asked:**   **That B99 bone scene. Except w Narvin and Ace, offsite somewhere. Bc Narvin and Leela have been sniping at each other more so and Ace and crew have had enough of this UST. Ace sighs for what feels like the fifth time as Narvin keeps muttering in the wake of Leela's abrupt departure. "You know what would settle this fight Narv, if you two just bone down." "Bone down? I am not engaging in a psychical altercation w Leela, she would stab me for starters." "No, bone down means to bang it out!"**

 

Ace keeps using euphemisms, at first because she doesn’t want to say “sex” in front of her boss, and then it becomes a game, trying to figure out when Narvin will twig to what she actually means.

Ace: No, bone down means to bang it out!

Narvin: Weren’t you listening? I just said I have no intention of provoking a fistfight with Leela! It would hardly be fair.

Ace: No! I mean, you’re right, it wouldn’t be fair. She’d wallop you. But you guys need to hook up.

Narvin: Hook up to what? We’re not even in space suits or anything, why do we need to hook up to something?   

Ace: Knock boots.

Narvin: Really, Ace, if you’re suggesting I should try to trip her, that’s the exact sort of thing that would lead to the fistfight I’m so keen on avoiding.

Ace: Lay pipe. 

Narvin: Do I look like a sanitation engineer to you? Do you actually think a plumbing project would help Leela relax? How hard did you hit your head, on that last field assignment?

Ace: Get busy.

Narvin: I have briefings all day, I’m already busy enough as it is.

Ace: I mean fuck! You two should definitely fuck.

Narvin: *blinks* *glances at the door Leela went through a minute ago* *turns deadpan stare to Ace*

Narvin: The fact that humans have so many euphemisms for sex is probably the least surprising thing I’ve ever learned about your species. 

He gives Ace a sanitation-related assignment right after this conversation, and she never brings up sex in front of him again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Anonymous asked: Leela: I’ll bet you’d look adorable, grasping at the sheets of my bed. Narvin: Leela, no matter how many times you compliment me, I am not making your bed.**

 

jklsdf except he does, though. He compulsively makes her bed, and tidies her quarters, and it drives her ABSOLUTELY BONKERS. He’s always putting away her clothes when she leaves them on the sofa; he’s rearranging her wardrobe so the outfits are sorted by color; he’s fiddling with her bathroom counter, so the bottles and tubes are alphabetically arranged. 

“How can you ever  _find_ anything, living in this riotous mess?” he says, but Leela can hardly hear him because she’s filing her nails on the living room couch, and he’s in the bedroom. 

He’s climbed so deep into her wardrobe, he might as well be a British schoolchild looking for Narnia. He keeps grumping, his voice muffled behind multiple layers of leather dresses and trousers, winter coats, serapes, and an impressive collection of spears she’s picked up during her travels. It’s a good thing closets on Gallifrey are dimensionally transcendental.

After a few minutes, his indistinct grumping noises have turned somewhat panicky. Leela stands up from the couch and comes to the bedroom door, just in time to see the spear collection come spilling out of the wardrobe with an unholy racket. Narvin spills out right behind, swiping at the dresses and serapes that cling to his head, sputtering and red-faced. 

“Did you find my pet spider? She has been missing for days,” Leela says, just a little smug. The next few weeks they sleep at Narvin’s place, because he refuses to step foot into hers again. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Anonymous asked:**   **Here's a real mystery for the Narvin and the CIA, how can the time lords (and gallifreyans in general) be so extra(tm) and yet so basic at the same time. Like, what a fine line to walk.**

 

The  _instant_  Ace graduates from the Academy and joins the CIA, she and Leela jointly open a casefile on this Incredibly Important Issue. 

Like, Ace pulls Leela aside one day for drinks at a dive bar in Low Town, with the specific intent of proposing this investigation. After explaining the concepts of “extra” and “basic” (Leela catches on super fast, because she’s smart and also she’s always known what a hot mess the Time Lords are, she just didn’t use those terms for it), they put all of their personal CIA resources into it - all their classified clearance, Matrix access etc. They treat this very seriously. They take notes, they do surveillance, they delve into eons of Gallifreyan history to get to the bottom of this mystery.

They meet back up at this Low Town dive bar on the regular, to have drinks and discuss their findings. Or if they’ve had a few too many drinks, to cackle hysterically over what a goddamn train wreck their adopted home and people are. 

Narvin is perusing the CIA databanks one day and stumbles across their work, under a file labeled “Project Dumbass.” He quietly encrypts it with higher security clearance, and never says a word about it, so their work proceeds unhindered. 

 

[#the idea of Ace and Leela forever bonding over these timelord idiots and their inexplicable affection for them](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/the-idea-of-Ace-and-Leela-forever-bonding-over-these-timelord-idiots-and-their-inexplicable-affection-for-them) [#is hilarious to me ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/is-hilarious-to-me) [#Ace: 'They're such MORONS why do we stay here Leela?' ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Ace%3A-%27They%27re-such-MORONS-why-do-we-stay-here-Leela%3F%27) [#Leela: 'They would all die - or destroy the universe - without us. That's why' ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Leela%3A-%27They-would-all-die---or-destroy-the-universe---without-us.-That%27s-why%27) [#Ace: 'Fair.' ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Ace%3A-%27Fair.%27) [#Leela: 'Also because some of them are cute.' ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Leela%3A-%27Also-because-some-of-them-are-cute.%27) [#Ace after a shot of alcohol: 'Some of them are SO FUCKING CUTE Leela. It's AWFUL. It's UNFAIR.' ](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Ace-after-a-shot-of-alcohol%3A-%27Some-of-them-are-SO-FUCKING-CUTE-Leela.-It%27s-AWFUL.-It%27s-UNFAIR.%27) [#Leela after another shot: 'It is the WORST.'](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/Leela-after-another-shot%3A-%27It-is-the-WORST.%27) [#(Ace is hooking up with a time lady commander in the chancellery guard now it's canon don't @ me)](http://gallifreyburning.tumblr.com/tagged/%28Ace-is-hooking-up-with-a-time-lady-commander-in-the-chancellery-guard-now-it%27s-canon-don%27t-%40-me%29)


	11. Chapter 11

**[ouidamforeman](https://ouidamforeman.tumblr.com/) asked:**  **“Looks like he needs to get laid” is not a description of Narvin I ever thought I’d read but it’s totally accurate and I just wanted to personally thank you for writing it**

 

Listen this (hundreds of years old) boy is wound tighter than a clock spring all the time, and he always needs to get laid at least a little. But the degree probably varied pretty wildly over the different seasons of Gallifrey.  

**s1-3 Narvin**  - 100% needs to get laid (like in a kinky way, with rough play and bruising), just look at this smug, clueless bastard. He thinks forming political alliances is flirting, and the only action he’s getting at this point is the stick that’s permanently lodged up his butt.  

**s4-6 Narvin**  - 62.8% needs to get laid, 37.2% needs a cup of strong coffee and/or alcohol, depending whether his big fuckup of the day:

  1. has led to a mortal injury and he’s on the verge of dying AGAIN, because this is what happens every Wednesday
  2. has caused a political kerfuffle where he has to kiss ass (not in a kinky way)
  3. has incited a cataclysmic intergalactic war that ultimately causes the destruction of his homeworld (definitely in a kinky way)
  4. all of the above simultaneously.  



**s7 Narvin**  - 23% needs to get laid, 77% needs a hug. Leela’s been gone for years, Tre doesn’t trust him, Ace is sassing him nonstop, he’s in desperate need of reassurance. And also in desperate need of someone competent to send out on field missions instead of going himself, because every time he leaves Gallifrey, he’s a goddamn catastrophe. 

**s8 Narvin**  - 1% needs to get laid, 99% needs some fucking respect from the writers at Big Finish. 

**s9 Narvin**  - 100%  _IS_  getting laid, look at this relaxed motherfucker. Sure the Time War is bleak, but his sex life isn’t! This time lord is comfortable enough in his own skin that he had the audacity to grow that beard! He’s getting all the personal affirmation he deserves, he isn’t responsible for the majority of fuckups this season, and he’s feeling good about himself (until The Devil You Know, after which he promptly shaves and starts repressing all his feelings again like the pro he is). 


	12. Chapter 12

**anonymous  asked: Can we talk about in some alternate universe w the gallicrew safe and sound from the time war. Like the b&b au and how one daaayyy someone (ace) brings in a cat to Narvins immediate dislike and advice. And like those the dad that says no to pets but end up loving them. Narvin becomes the cats favorite and perches on his shoulder just chirping.**

 

Narvin knows about cats. He wasn’t in charge of the CIA during the incident with the Killer Cats of Geng Singh, he was just a junior agent at the time. But he was  _there,_ he witnessed everything and he  _knows_. Even if we aren’t talking about particularly evolved cat species, he’s also seen the sort of problems too many run-of-the-mill Gallifreyan cats can cause, when they establish colonies in the bowels of the transduction barrier mechanical rooms, or when they creep into the TARDIS bays, slip into the time-ships, and start breeding under the time rotors. (If a very junior CIA agent was  _theoretically_ assigned the task of removing dozens and dozens of kittens from said time rotor, then a very junior CIA agent might also  _theoretically_ have discovered his first incarnation was violently allergic to cats.)

He and Romana found Ace here on Earth and now they’re stuck - temporarily, but stuck nonetheless. And one morning as Narvin fiddles with the ancient human technology required to boil water for a cup of tea, a black Earth cat wanders in through the kitchen door along with the spring breeze, both of them as brazen as anything. 

“Mrrrp?” the cat says.

“Shoo!” He grabs a stick with smaller sticks on one end (”A broom, and you’ll use it to sweep all this cat hair,” Ace explains later) and chases the creature away, slamming the door for good measure.

Romana’s head pops in from the living room a second later, eyebrow arched. “Everything all right, Narvin?”

“Just a little pest control,” he replies, passing her a cup of tea before blowing on his own to cool it off. 

The next day, when Romana and Ace are away on a supply requisition run and Narvin is “holding down the fort” (Ace’s human colloquialisms never fail to baffle), the cat shows up again. The cottage is secure - he’s certain of that - all the doors and windows firmly locked, but the cat strolls into the living room and stares at him with electric green eyes.

“Mrrrp?” it says again.

“Certainly not!” Narvin chides, lunging for the broom. The cat’s off like a shot, and there’s a scramble that ends with the cat dashing under the bed and  _disappearing completely_. Which is physically impossible - there are no missing floorboards or holes in the plaster - and means that this cat cannot possibly be a normal Earth animal.

When Romana and Ace return from their supply requisition run, arms loaded with bags labeled TESCO in bright red letters, they find Narvin hunched over the kitchen table fiddling with electronics.

“Did you disassemble the refrigerator?” Ace asks in distress, staring at the decimated machine. 

“I needed the motor for the sensor I’m building,” Narvin replies distractedly.

“Where am I supposed to put my ice cream?!” 

The cat only appears when Narvin is alone, and his two companions claim to never have seen it. Every kind of sensor he builds seems to have a fault, because they all register that this creature is a normal, mundane terran  _felis catus_.

“Mrrrp?” it asks each time, in increasingly cheeky tones.

The only reasonable way to deal with this threat is to let it get close enough to capture, for proper scientific study. His efforts with milk and a can of tuna fish inside an animal trap end with the food eaten, the trap sprung, and the cage empty. 

One night he gets close to capturing it - he wakes up to the sound of something vibrating, and the delicate sensation of pinpricks on his left foot. He lifts his head to meet the electric green eyes of the cat at the bottom of the bed, purring and kneading with its claws. 

Moving slowly, so as not to frighten it, he sits up. The cat stops kneading but keeps purring as it blinks serenely. He reaches, and the cat retreats in equal measure, until it settles down into a loaf shape atop his CIA robe, which is neatly folded in a nearby chair.

To prove that he isn’t intimidated, Narvin decides to go back to sleep without chasing it out of the room.

The next day, he walks into the kitchen for breakfast with the cat trotting along behind, like a little black caboose. “Oi, what’s this then?” Ace asks excitedly, perking up over her plate of eggs. 

“I haven’t any idea what you mean,” Narvin replies, because after all, he’s the one in charge here, not the cat. And as long as he ignores the cat, he has the upper hand. He’s going to win this standoff, he’s decided, and victory won’t come through the force of a broomstick or the beep of a biological analysis device. It’s going to come through sheer stubbornness and force of will, and Narvin has both of those things in abundance.

“Here kitty,” Ace beckons, using a slice of egg as a lure. The cat settles down to be fed and pet at Ace’s feet, and Narvin eats his breakfast while ignoring them both. The cat follows him around the house most of the day, disappearing only once and returning with a small dead rodent. He drops the dead rodent at Narvin’s feet, never breaking eye contact, and then saunters out of the room. 

“Your primitive attempts at intimidation won’t work on me,” Narvin says airily, turning the page in his book and not deigning to look at the black furball. (Ace gave  _Relativity: The Special and General Theory_  to Narvin and told him it was a science book, but so far he’s found it to be a comedy.) 

That night, the cat ups its intimidation tactics by sleeping on Narvin’s feet. Narvin redoubles his indifference campaign, and spends the entire night lying stock still, not even twitching in response.

The next day, Romana walks into the living room to find Narvin sitting in an armchair, the cat draped around his shoulders like a purring black stole. 

“Narvin? Is this why Ace has started buying animal food? Because you’ve adopted a  _cat_?” 

“I haven’t any idea what you mean,” he replies, deadpan. He flicks a button on his datapad with more aggression than is warranted. “What cat?”

“Mrrrp,” the cat agrees smugly. 


	13. Chapter 13

**anonymous  asked: Omg you can't just say 'erasure is a disassembled au' and not go into more detail! This could be the next big thing since Torvin!** 😂

 

Anon, I see your crying laughter emoji, but I can absolutely make this work, real talk. 

Obviously in Disassembled!Erasure ‘verse, very early in Romana’s presidency (just after she assassinated Borusa), somehow our good, brave Leela ended up on that horrific Gallifrey. And Romana kept her as a pet for awhile, but realized that the things Leela made her think about (kindness! bravery! loyalty!) made her too uncomfortable, so she threw her to Interrogator General Narvin as a toy to break. He fell in love with her instead, and did what he could to protect her in the Capitol. 

At a certain point, Romana notices that Leela isn’t dead yet, and realizes that Narvin has feelings for an alien savage. At first she’s inclined to have them both tossed into the Oubliette of Eternity, but something makes her pause, and during her few days of hesitation Leela finally fully wins Romana over, too.  

They’re both in love with her. Of course they are. But neither of them can publicly admit it; they’d never own up to such a weakness, it would be their political undoing and their death, to boot. But they have to keep Leela safe, right?

Romana offers her abandoned ancestral home as a safehouse, and bundles Leela and Narvin off to Heartshaven with a promise to join them before long. Narvin and Leela have an intensely, soul-achingly romantic interlude alone at this big, wild house, and Leela convinces Narvin that good is really worth standing up for, and he and Romana can change this corrupt Gallifrey into something better.

He’s going to marry her. And goddamn, he’ll change his entire society to make it possible for a time lord to marry an offworlder, he decides. He can bring Romana onside for all this social change - hell, she’s almost onside already. They might have to kill a few of the more stubborn High Councilors to really kick off this change, but it will be worth it, because after that the three of them are going to work miracles together.  

Then the earthquake hits, of course. Romana rushes out in a skimmer to pick the two of them up. Leela’s head injury is severe, and it’s not like they can take her back to a Time Lord medical facility for treatment. Leela’s in a coma, and Romana and Narvin just assume it’s a healing process, like time lords go through. They decide best thing to do is let her body fix itself.

Of course, a human brain is vastly different from a time lord brain, and the concussion drastically changes Leela’s personality. Her savage nature fully manifests, and she’s suddenly ruthless and heartless enough to fit perfectly well into this Gallifrey. Romana’s swayed back to this shadowy path by dark!Leela, but Narvin never concedes. He can’t go back, because it would be like losing Leela twice. So Leela kills him with her bare hands while Romana looks on, and earns herself the position of Interrogator General. 

The reason Interrogator General Leela so enraged at the idea of a surviving Narvin during “Disassembled” is because his last words, as she pinned him down and choked the life out of him, were, “I love you.” And she still sees his purple face, and hears the mangled syllables, no matter how much she tries to forget them. But at this point she’s so changed, they don’t make her sad or remorseful, they just make her angry. 

And that’s how “Erasure” is set during “Disassembled.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this incredible drawing](https://alyona11.tumblr.com/post/185477102426/one-day-i-gonna-scan-stuff-untill-then-youll) by [alyona11](https://alyona11.tumblr.com) (as usual, she is my go-to otp art dealer).

Narvin isn’t sure if the difference is a species thing, or a personality thing, but his adjustment to Leela’s side of the issue happens with unsettling speed. 

The first night they spend together she’s all over him - literally - which is exactly how things should go. But then in the morning, as he eats a nutrition bar at the dining table, she walks in fresh from the shower, in only a towel, and plops down into his lap. 

“What do you think you’re doing? There are three other chairs at the table, we don’t have to share. Do humans normally use other sentient beings as furniture?”

“I am only saying good morning.” She kisses the tip of his nose, and then his lips, and giggles as she nibbles his earlobe. By the time she gets around to stealing his breakfast, while still sitting on his lap, he’s far too charmed to remember to be annoyed. 

That evening, after both of them are thoroughly sexed and satisfied, he leaves Leela asleep in bed and goes to finish the day’s CIA paperwork in the other room. She comes to find him a short while later, practically crawling over the back of the couch and situating herself across his lap again, her legs tangling with his.

“I can’t work in these conditions,” he sighs, dropping the data pad onto the couch cushion in protest.

“Then do not work,” she replies matter-of-factly, kissing his forehead. “Come back to bed, instead.”

And so the pattern repeats every time they are in private: Leela arranging herself in his personal space, touching and hugging and caressing as if this sort of impulsive physical contact is normal and to be expected. She seems bemused by his half-hearted objections, petting and kissing him until he reciprocates her attentions.

He becomes an expert at managing a data pad one-handed, and managing Leela with the other. His concentration sharpens, so an interlude of kisses doesn’t derail his mental to-do list, but only delays it for a span or two. He finds he has difficulty sleeping, unless Leela spends at least a few microspans cosseting him as she would a prized pet. Within days, she has him so well trained that he instinctively opens his arms any time he sits down, waiting for her to clamber atop him like a Time Lord-shaped jungle gym. 

One day he comes to Leela’s flat to find her on the couch, poring over a mission briefing Romana has given her for tomorrow. He sits down and, without waiting, pulls her into his lap. She laughs in delight at the spontaneous and natural gesture, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing his cheek.

“I cannot work in these conditions,” she complains in a perfect imitation of his vocal inflection, flinging the mission briefing to the other end of the couch without a second glance. 

“Then don’t work,” he replies with a half grin and shrug. 

“You are a bad influence, Narvin.”

“Am I? That’s novel.” He sounds far more pleased at this development than he has a right to be. “I suppose I could corrupt you further. Distract you more often from work, that sort of thing.”

“You could make me late for my mission, or persuade me to miss meetings altogether,” she agrees enthusiastically.

“Let’s not get carried away.” He draws back with a touch of genuine alarm. “I’d never lead you into truancy, that’s too bad an influence even for me.”

“Oh dear. What am I to do with you, Time Lord?”

“I have some ideas,” he replies, running a hand up her thigh, his thumb massaging suggestively. “Just a bit of mild corruption, nothing too serious.”

“Mild corruption is a good place to start, perhaps, and then I shall decide on the rest,” she says, wiggling her hips and taking his face in both hands, to give him a proper snog. “But I promise not to make you late for any meetings.”


End file.
